Prepare for some serious crybaby shit
The last two days have been hard. I’ve had a crash and burn of previously unknown proportions. I’m tired in a very, I don’t know, almost aggressive way. It’s not like, “Hmm. Feeling a little sleepy. Wish I could have a little nap,” but, “As my body apparently weights a ton, and as I can not move or walk, I must get in bed now and once I get there, I will not move for 24 hours.” I’ve been able to make myself do the minimum required of a mother and teacher. Sophie has been fed and clothed (mostly) and my students have had something to do (mostly) but anything not urgently required has not happened. No paper grading. No house cleaning. I make it through school, pick up Soph, and then crash on the couch until E gets home, then I go to bed. At 5:00.
Yesterday afternoon I had to take Soph with me to an ALS (Alternative Language Services—formerly known as ESL) meeting at one of the elementary school libraries. She was very good, but accumulated a huge pile of books from hither and thither around the library. I tried to put them away, but finally said, fuck it, and just dropped them in the return box. Received some pretty icy looks for that from the other teachers. After the meeting, I let her play on the play ground for a while. Twice, I ran right into a metal bar or pole and almost knocked myself senseless. I swear—I just didn’t see them. The fog.
But—today is feeling marginally better. Hopefully I’ll be able to stay out of bed until at least 8:00 tonight.
Now then, enough crybaby shit. Anyone have tips on fake eyelashes? My experience with them has been fraught with trauma. The individual lashes didn’t work, because they kind of need to sit on/nestle in your real lashes—so, problem there. I then tried the “strip” lashes, but apparently, the glue for the “individual” lashes is different from the glue for “strip” lashes. The “individual” lash glue is clear and very much like super glue. It dries brittle, and once it’s on something, it doesn’t come off. So—I put it on the strip lashes, not realizing that it was the wrong stuff, and stuck them on. 1st—ouch. 2nd—when I took/pried them off, they were totally ruined.
Back to the beauty store where I discovered the 2 glue nature of fake eyelashes. So, armed with a new tube of “strip” glue and some “Mocha Brown Wispies,” I tried again.
The glue for “strip” lashes is like rubber cement. In theory, it moves with your eye, and when you take the lashes off, the glue is supposed to peel off. Not so much. I kind of got the lashes on straight, opened my eye, and the glue stuck to my eye lid, creating a kind of scary “This chick’s eyelids either have Leprosy or are covered in rubber cement” look. Not precisely the look I’m going for, which is more of a “What me? Of course I have eyelashes. What do you think I am? Some kind of a nut ball who obsessively pulls her eyelashes out?” kind of look.
So—took those lashes off—scrubbed the rubber cement from my eyelids—and began to try removing the glue from the lashes. No. They were totally covered in glue, and no amount of peeling was going to free them. I ruined them too.
Now I’m trying to decide—do I go buy yet another pair? (They’re not too expensive—about 3 bucks a pop.) Or do I just give up, keep wearing my glasses and hope no one notices (why do I care), and wait for the real ones to grow back. I’m still undecided on this.
Today’s best thing about being a mom:
I picked Sophie up early from school yesterday. The drill at Montessori is that you pull up into a round driveway, and the teacher brings your kid out, puts him/her in the car sear, and off you go. Because I was early though, I went into the playground to get her. She was sitting in the sand box with 3 other little girls. After squealing and giving me a hug, she stood next to me, gestured to me very regally, and said to the little girls, “I’d like to introduce you to my mother. Her name is Rebecca.” Of course, the other girls didn’t so much as look up—but Soph didn’t seem to notice. She then introduced me to the girls in the sand box, repeating the performance, “Mother, I’d like to introduce you to my friend. Her name is …” She then went through this process with all of the teachers. It was fairly hilarious.
Today’s worst thing about being a mom:
Knowing that I’m not taking care of her as well as I should lately.
(Oh. No comments on the above "Woe-is me" section. I’m too much of a comment whore to turn them off, but to take a page out of Patrice’s blog—they would just make me feel like a big (ger) looser. So instead, please limit responses to eyelash info OR answer this question: If you could have anyone alive on earth be your slave for the day, who would you choose, and what would be the first thing you would have him/her do?)